


Weep Not for the Memories

by neuxue



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, implied Zutara, unrequited Maiko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuxue/pseuds/neuxue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An archivist, a waterbender who can take memories directly from a person's mind, is collecting the story of the Avatar. Mai gives her what she is looking for, but some things are best forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weep Not for the Memories

**Author's Note:**

> ) Regarding canon-compliance: could be seen as either AU or Meta, depending on your point of view. I started thinking about how the story would have actually ended up in the format it did (was there a camera crew? Did someone interview all the characters? etc), and this happened.  
> 2) within the fic, Mai is sometimes referred to as Mei. The way her name is pronounced, Mei is the more 'correct' spelling. In Mandarin Chinese, it means 'beautiful'

Mai opens the door to a strange-looking young woman; her clothing and the cast of her features indicate that she is of the Earth Kingdom, but the blue of her eyes and the brown of her skin suggest one of the Water Tribes. She’s not the first mixed-race person Mai has encountered, but the others have all been half Fire Nation. Not a hint of surprise shows on her face, though, as she opens the door the rest of the way.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
“My name is Yan Shui. I am an archivist at Ba Sing Se. Are you the Lady Mai?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Yan Shui nods, and Mai notices for the first time that she carries a waterskin. _Odd_ , she thinks, but does not remark upon it just yet.  
  
“I have been assigned to collecting accounts of the events that occurred last year, with the return of the Avatar and the end of the war,” the archivist says. “If you have a moment, I would very much like to speak with you.” She bows politely, in flawless Fire Nation form, her hands shaping the flame.  
  
Mai sighs quietly. Diplomacy is tedious enough, but interviews are worse. Still, the archivist has acted politely, and Mai cannot courteously refuse such a request. And an Earth Nation waterbender could maybe even prove interesting. Unlikely, but it’s possible.  
  
“Please come in,” Mai says, her own hands shaping the flame this time as she steps aside to allow the woman to enter into the room. Yan Shui bows again, before following Mai to a table and set of chairs arranged in front of the reception fireplace.  
  
“So tell me. How does a waterbender end up as a Ba Sing Se archivist?”  
  
The woman’s eyes widen in surprise, but she does not hesitate in answering. “It is because of my waterbending that I ended up an archivist, as a matter of fact,” she says. “My mother is a waterbender from the Northern Water Tribe. A healer. I inherited and learned bending from her. My father, though, was Dai Li. I trust you are familiar with the Dai Li and their methods.”  
  
“Of course,” Mai says, eyes narrowed.  
  
“Please,” Yan Shui says hurriedly, “I do not mean to imply that I use anything like their mindbending techniques! I would never do that to a person’s mind.”  
Mai says nothing, watching the woman’s face closely. One of the benefits of spending so much time with Azula is that she has learned to detect lies in even the most practiced liars. She would never have told the Fire Princess, but Mai could often guess when even Azula was bending the truth. She sees nothing but honesty and eagerness in the face of the young archivist.  
  
“What do you do, then?”  
  
“I developed a bending technique that allows me to access thoughts and memories,” she says. “I find it is much more accurate and reliable method of gathering information than interviews.”  
  
“So…you want my memories?” Mai asks, carefully keeping any tone or feeling from her voice.  
  
“I would request that you share some of them with me, yes,” says Yan Shui politely. “Of course, you are at liberty to refuse. The Firelord already did, which is a part of the reason I am hoping you will agree. There are still significant gaps in the story that must be filled.”  
 _  
Zuko refused_. Mai is not surprised, of course. Zuko would not allow a stranger into his mind. And, Mai thinks, it’s probably better for everyone that way. There are memories Zuko must have that even she would never want to see. _And then there’s_ her, Mai thinks. Of course. The waterbender. He could not risk anyone, especially someone collecting the story of the Avatar, knowing the truth about him and Katara.  
 _  
Because Zuko can’t lie_ , she realises. He can hardly lie convincingly with words. He could never lie with his very thoughts, his memories. _But I can._  
  
“Why do you ask me?” Mai asks, in part to buy herself more time to think.  
  
“With all due respect, I would rather not ask the Fire Princess, in her…current condition.” Unsaid is the obvious, Azula always lies. _But I must lie, too._  
  
She had promised Zuko. _I know it’s too much to ask of you_. But she had agreed to keep up the pretense. _Not for her, though. Never for_ her _. Not even for the Avatar. I am not that selfless._  
  
She promised him. She never said why. She let him assume.  
  
“What will you do with the memories you collect?”  
  
“I will record and compile them, and release them to the archivists. They will then likely be made available to the public, unless the committee decides to classify them, or release them in an alternative format.”  
 _  
If I can lie to her, I can choose what the world sees, what they know._  
  
“All right,” she says.  
  
The archivist looks surprised. “Are you sure?” she asks.  
  
Mai nods. “You will take only the memories I give to you?”  
  
“Of course. I swear upon my honour as a bender and an archivist.” She lays a scroll on the table between them. A contract. Mai reads through it carefully – it asks her to sign her consent to the release of the memories and information Yan Shui will take, setting out restrictions and guidelines.  
  
Mai signs. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, ensuring that her control is as rigid as ever.  
  
“I’m ready,” she says. The archivist holds out a hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Mai takes it.  
  
Mai feels the gentle tug of Yan Shui’s bending in her mind, reaching for the memories Mai has promised. She obligingly reaches for her memories, finds both the truth and the ones she has rewoven herself, in longing and nostalgia and a little bit more hope than she likes to admit.  
  
She starts with a simple memory, on the ship when Zuko returns. It does not take much, to push the thread of the true memory below the fabrication, the fantasy her mind has already made almost real.  
  
Then Mai gives her more, from the times at Ember island. It’s easier than she thought, for a while. Zuko bringing her a shell — _so you can hear the sea, remember?_ — Like he’d said when they were younger because Ursa had told him. It’s not hard to shift it; after all, awkwardness comes naturally to Zuko. Mai almost smiles thinking of it. This too is genuine.  
  
The party isn’t too difficult either. She’s imagined him calling her his girlfriend so many times even she almost believes the memory she gives the archivist.  
  
The fight she hands over as it happened. _We’re done_ , she had said. It had been a mistake then, a slip of the tongue when the hurt of reality sinking in had overcome her calm for an instant – she can still see the smirk on Azula’s face – but it is a saving grace now.  
  
She remembers the campfire on the beach, not long after. The pain and confusion and anger in Zuko’s eyes.

  
_Are you angry at your father? She had asked, hoping that he would finally say yes. But…_  
                 I’m angry at myself, he says, and something inside Mai breaks.  
                 I care about you, she says, and hands over the memory of a kiss she desperately wishes were real.

_You think I’m doing this for you? For_ her?  
  
Mai chokes on a sob and shoves Yan Shui out of her mind, locking her memories away behind her carefully composed mask. She looks up to see a look of surprise mixed with suspicion on the archivist’s face.  
  
“My apologies,” Mai says calmly. “It’s weird having someone else in my head.”  
  
Yan Shui nods. “I understand. We can leave it there for today, if you like.”  
  
She almost says yes. She can feel her control slipping, and it takes far more effort than it should to hide her emotions, to hide the longing for the false memories. She knows she should stop before she slips up and casts her relationship with Zuko into doubt. She promised him. She promised her. And there’s the Avatar to think of…but there’s one more ‘memory’ she skipped over. One more memory she longs to make true, one more memory she cries for in her dreams.  
 _  
I’m not that selfless, she had told Zuko._  
  
“There’s one more, from just before Ember Island,” Mai says, already thinking of an orange sunset and his arm around her shoulders. “I can give you that one before we finish for the day.”  
  
She calls to mind the memory – the fantasy – the way it will be recorded and made almost into truth. The way she has almost convinced herself it happened. One day, maybe, she will convince him.  
  
She meets the archivist’s eyes, and nods.  
  
Once more, she takes Yan Shui’s hand and feels the brush of the archivist’s bending across her mind, a gentle request. Reluctantly she separates the two threads of memory, the truth from the fantasy. Yan Shui’s tugging becomes more insistent, and with a small sigh Mai begins to hand the memory over.  
  
At the last second, she lets the truth recede into nothing more than an undercurrent of the memories she herself clung to, knowing they were all she had, and all she would ever have, of him.  
 _  
Come on Zuko, let’s have a picnic.  
_                  Mei, want to go have a picnic?  
  
Her head rests on his shoulder. This much is true. This much she allowed herself, knowing even then that she was loving on borrowed time.  
  
True, too, is her comment about the sunset. She never has liked orange. Orange is a firebender’s colour, the colour of flames she will never possess. Mai has always preferred the dull grey and glinting silver of her knives.  
 _  
His gentle laugh, the one she never heard enough.  
                 What’s so funny? She had asked, feigning offense.  
                 You’re just…you’re so…Mei when you hate the world like that.  
_                  You’re so beautiful when you hate the world.  
  
Can she be faulted for choosing to hear the literal meaning behind the childhood nickname that became her name? She had dreamed so many times of hearing him speaking those words, and it was so close. She is hardly changing the words as she opens the memory to Yan Shui. Can she really be faulted for altering the sentiment, for clinging to this one impossible moment?  
 _  
Not the whole world, she had said. I don’t hate you.  
_                  I don’t hate you.  
  
The words she longed to say remained unspoken, too impossible even for a memory blurred with fantasy.  
 __  
He laughs again, his smile lighting his eyes. She knows what the words mean to him. And what they don’t.  
                 I don’t hate you, too.  
  
She knows better than to remember love. 


End file.
